


Papa

by Aleksandr



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, Papa!Mycroft, Past Drug Use, Son!Sherlock, Uranium Ore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-06-18
Packaged: 2018-02-05 06:10:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1808260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aleksandr/pseuds/Aleksandr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sherlock lets slip a seemingly scandalous piece of information, John takes it upon himself to discover just what Sherlock meant in calling Mycroft "Papa".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Papa

“Sherlock, over here!” Greg waved the two approaching men over to the crime scene, not a particularly interesting case -Hardly even a two, but Sherlock was dreadfully bored,- looking Sherlock over carefully. “Are you okay? When’s the last time you ate? I don’t want you collapsing on my scene.”

Rolling his eyes at the notion, Sherlock swept past, John in tow. Were he being honest, he was quickly beginning to realise that he really ought to have eaten something, anything, but he wasn’t about to let that stop him. He crouched to examine the body, and barely had his magnifying glass out a full minute before he was quickly standing, explanation on his lips. It occurred to him, as the ground rushed up to meet his head, that he ought not to have stood so very fast. But in the moment after that, all went black.

John caught his friend, thankful he had been standing so close and he frowned as Greg came over, sighing and muttering, “What did I say?”

“Is now really the time to be saying ‘I told you so,’ Greg? Do something useful and call Mycroft. He’ll want to know.” John carefully removed Sherlock’s scarf, putting it beneath his head to comfort him.

“On it. What’s with them, anyway? I mean, I’ve got an older brother, but he doesn’t give a shit about me, and I’ve no bloody idea what he’s up to lately.” He paused, turning away to quickly explain to an alarmed Mycroft, who assured Greg he was on his way immediately. “Thick as thieves, these two.” He muttered as he pocketed his mobile, looking over Sherlock.

“Freak’s down?” Sally called out, coming to join them, Anderson on her heels. “What’s wrong with him?”

“He doesn’t eat enough.” Came John’s worried response, laying his hand gently across Sherlock’s forehead, checking for a fever, There was none, but John continued right on worrying, taking one of Sherlock’s trembling hands in his own. They would wait for Mycroft to make the call on whether or not to hospitalise the detective, as John really wouldn’t, but he wasn’t Mycroft, and thus didn’t get to make such decisions for the detective.

“Nice going, Freak.” Sally rolled her eyes, looking up in slight surprise as Mycroft walked quickly over to them.

Everyone took a step back as the man knelt next to Sherlock, pulling him gently into his arms and picking him up, cradling Sherlock to his chest. As he was shifted, Sherlock awoke, mumbling, “Wha..? Papa?” He blinked up at Mycroft, rubbing his eyes and again murmuring, “Papa..” Hiding his face against Mycroft’s chest, his whole body trembled violently. “I don’t feel so great…”

“Oh, Sherlock. I’ve got you, dearest. Let’s get you home, hmm?” Mycroft proceeded to carry him off, laying him carefully into the black town car, climbing in next to him and settling Sherlock’s head on his lap before closing the door and driving off.

All four watched them go with mouths hanging open, no words until Anderson uttered incredulously, “ _Papa_?!”

Sally just shook her head. “Do you think they’re…You know, together? It’d be just like the Freak to be shagging his brother with a daddy kink.”

Looking to John, Greg said only, “Well?”

Blinking, John merely shook his head. “I dunno why you’re all looking at me. I’m just as confused as you all.”

“One helluva mystery.” Sally said with a shake of her head, turning back to the scene. Greg followed suit and John made his way home, agreeing it was indeed quite the mystery. A mystery he intended to solve.

 

~ § ~

 

However, it stayed a mystery for a good long while, John never daring to bring the topic up and Sherlock avoiding it altogether. No, everything seemed back to normal, until one morning where John woke to the wonderful smell of bacon, wandering down to find Sherlock cooking in the kitchen, humming happily to himself. Leaning in the doorway, John asked with a quirked brow, “May I enquire as to the occasion?”

Sherlock gave him a small wave as he continued to work on breakfast, saying simply. “It’s Fathers’ Day.”

“Papa.” John suddenly recalled the incident that had occurred a few weeks ago. “You called Mycroft Papa.”

Watching his friend a moment, Sherlock asked softly, “Can I trust you?”

“With anything.” John assured him, ready to listen.

“Mycroft will be over shortly. I’ve planned a day of relaxation for him for Father’s Day.” Sherlock said with a small smile, turning back to his task.

“Would you… Would you mind explaining that, Sherlock?” Not wanting to push the issue but genuinely curious, John leaned back against the counter as he watched his friend cook. 

“You’re wondering if we’re romantically attached with some sort of daddy kink. Probably because of something Anderson said. No, wait.. Sally.”

Blushing lightly, John nodded. “Just wondering. Not like I’m accusing you or anything. I mean, it’s not like I would hate you if it were infantilism or anything.”

“It’s fine, John.” Sherlock hesitated a moment before giving a nod. “It’s fine to wonder. That’s not how it is though. Mycroft was very young when he accidentally impregnated a young woman, which resulted in my birth. His parents were worried about the consequences, and so raised me as Mycroft’s younger brother. I myself didn’t know until my first overdose, as a teen. Mycroft was distraught as he revealed the truth to me. He’s my Papa, and he’s been with me through thick and thin… mostly thin.”

John blinked in surprise at that explanation. “Oh. Um. Weren’t you...angry? Mad, that it’d been hidden from you?”

“Yes. He was.” Mycroft said softly from the doorway, causing John to startle in surprise. “Sherlock, I thought I told you not to tell anyone?” His voice was all too like that of a stern parent, gently chiding.

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock plated the omelettes, one for each of them, with bacon on the side, nice and crispy: just the way Mycroft liked it. “I’m not a child anymore, Father. I trust John. Trust my decision to trust John.”

Mycroft simply chuckled, moving to hang up his coat and brolly. “You may not be a child in age, but you are still my child, and you are still _supposed_ to follow my directions.”

“When did I ever?” Sherlock wondered aloud, tone incredulous.

Mycroft hesitated, nodding before taking his seat. “Yes, you have a point. Children are supposed to be influenceable. But even when you were little, it was always, ‘Sherlock, don’t touch that.’ And within three minutes you’d have made a great mess getting whatever it was.”

Chuckling softly at their banter, John took his own seat across from the two, starting on his omelette. “Thanks for this, by the way, Sherlock. But  I can skedaddle if you want some time alone with...Mycroft.” Honestly, John was still adjusting to this whole thing. He had been about to say ‘your dad’, but that was still too foreign to him.

“No, no.” Mycroft dismissed the idea. “You’re no bother to us. Will your Father be stopping by?”

John was still fidgeting, trying to figure out what to say, when Sherlock interrupted softly, “Papa, we don’t talk about John’s parents.”

Looking John over critically for a split second, Mycroft's his gaze softened a bit. “Ah. My apologies, John.”

“No, it’s fine.” John waved it off, continuing on eating, though the awkward air persisted.

Finally breaking the silence, Mycroft suggested, “Sherlock, how about you go fetch my gift?”

Sherlock arched both eyebrows, crossing his arms and leaning back in his seat. “You never let me have my presents before I’ve finished eating. You’re hardly started!”

“That is because I am the parent, so nyah.” Mycroft said it in an all too imperious fashion, making his son roll his eyes.

“Fine.” Sherlock stood, dragging his feet as he went to get the bag, though he was more excited on his way back. He held out the navy blue gift bag, grinning and generally looking quite pleased with himself.

A bit suspicious now, Mycroft poked the bag, wondering if there was anything  alive within it. Sherlock again rolled his eyes and Mycroft finally took it.  He pulled out the tissue paper and Sherlock groaned in annoyance as he folded into a neat little square, handing it back to Sherlock. “Every year. Every year, John! The same piece of tissue paper has been used in his Father’s Day and Birthday gift every year.”

“It’s cost-effective.” Mycroft sniffed, reaching into the bag and pulling out a tin, about as large as Mycroft’s fist. He moved to open it and Sherlock yelped.

“Don’t open it!” He put both hands atop Mycroft’s keeping the lid tightly closed.

Arching an eyebrow, Mycroft asked with a frown, “What is it, Sherlock?”

“Uranium ore.” Sherlock grinned, retaking his seat. “Because I am your favourite, though also most destructive child.”

Sighing exasperatedly, Mycroft couldn’t keep the smile from his face though he did quip, “You are my favourite child merely because you are my only child.”

“He loves me anyway.” Sherlock told John with a pleased grin.

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

“Do not!”

“Do too!”

“Do not!”

“Do not!”

“Do too!”

“HA!”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed. This was written in part for a very kind anon over on the Sherlock BBC Prompting Meme; the prompt can be found here:  
> http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/22393.html?thread=131543161#t131543161
> 
> I may or may not continue this; I haven't really decided yet. Your feedback is, as always, much appreciated!  
> Good day!


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